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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29034039">Snowball</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/DenmarkStreetGutterClub/pseuds/DenmarkStreetGutterClub'>DenmarkStreetGutterClub</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Didn't mean to cause quite this much fuss, Eventual Smut, F/M, Romance, Wait48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 04:35:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,435</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29034039</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/DenmarkStreetGutterClub/pseuds/DenmarkStreetGutterClub</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Momentum starts small.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>145</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>In my head, when they go, they always go heavy, fast. But what if they don't? An experiment in tenderness and mutual kindness. Because that's a good thing.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It had been coming with the inevitability of a falling anvil whistling through the air above him, but the moment it crushed him was still a surprise. They had been tangibly closer since those two consecutive nights to celebrate Robin's birthday, but nothing had really been said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Strike had felt lighter, somehow, as though his hands had been untied from weighty invisible chains, but although their familiar sense of ease had become mingled with a hopefulness he knew he was still being wary of, it was a holding pattern. That anvil was hurtling closer all the time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rubbed the bridge of his nose as an image of the kiss rose up unbidden again. After everything he feared, it had been almost chaste. Since he'd purchased that perfume (a triumph that he still relished quietly, a warm smugness inside that felt a lot like being a small boy overtaken with glee at confounding all negative expectations) and they had enjoyed each other's company without rancor or nerves, something had shifted in their physical proximity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was as though they had imperceptibly become magnetic, and though neither of them seemed to be prepared to point it out, they were each taking every opportunity to stroll by where the other was, or sit that bit further forward, or deliberately hand an item over rather than simply directing the other to where it was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So it had been that they had been talking about a case while standing near Robin's desk, and Strike had referenced a file that he knew was in a drawer behind her. The ensuing do-si-do, where Robin had motioned to step one way and Strike had mirrored her, and then back the other way, both lightly laughing as Robin stopped and waited for Strike to reach round, had stilled into a tension as unlike discomfort as it was possible to get. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Strike recalled it, he remembered that he felt as though it could just as easily have ended with a deeply affectionate hug. </span>
  <em>
    <span> But it didn't, did it?</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, standing in the office, with one of Strike's arms reaching behind her, Robin had looked him full in the face, and he had caught an exhilarating breath of her new scent, and after a moment that must only have been seconds, they had moved those few centimetres and their lips had grazed together, probably only for a few seconds more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knew he had been barely breathing, eyes closed, his pulse thumping, and he had felt her left hand brush up the hair on his right forearm and curl round just above his elbow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hadn't allowed himself to dwell on how a kiss might have happened beforehand. Now it had, he couldn't help running over it and being surprised it had been so tremulous and hesitant when, if he was honest, he would have put money on it being like a dam bursting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But hesitant and halting it had been, and after only those few seconds with their mouths tantalisingly pressed together, they had both moved apart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Strike had searched Robin's face for any signs that he had overstepped, fully prepared to castigate himself for his foolishness, but had found none. Instead, he had seen the same kind of expression she had when he had complimented a useful deduction or insight she had made about a case. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was a little taken aback by this, but surprised satisfaction was certainly better than horrified embarrassment, he reasoned. If only the damned phone hadn't rang and made them jump apart like they had been scalded! He was sure she had been going to speak.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Robin had felt that she had come alive since her birthday, a feeling similar to the fizzing glow after a brisk walk on a frosty morning. Everything had seemed pin sharp, like the contrast had been dialled way up high, defining all the contours of her life. Her sense of professional pride and confidence had never been stronger, and she reflected that Strike had been pivotal in it, but had never carried a sense of ownership over her ability. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It would be one thing to have become free of Matthew’s entitled attitude of owning her and needing to squash her down, only to find herself blossoming while another man took ownership of her. Strike hadn’t done that. He’d opened doors for her to walk through, and he’d watched her walk through them with that approving look on his face, but he had laid no claims on her. If anything, he had seemed to hang back when she might have wanted him not to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That had been another thing which had come into focus, too. Not everything that was now well defined was a feeling she enjoyed. She was now able to see the edges of her insecurity around him clearly too. She was able to rest in his respect for her capabilities, in his oft-stated conviction that she was the best he’d got, by a country mile. But she had known since that moment when he bought her perfume, and her lips had pressed deliberately against his stubbled cheek, that her feelings for him had gone beyond even what they were when she had convinced herself it was only a crush.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had never been only a crush. She knew now, all this time later, that a disappointed crush would not have sent her reeling into staying in a marriage that almost suffocated her. She knew she had been running from a broken heart, trying to find consolation in a man who would at least want her, even if only as a possession. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had taken a long time to get back to how it had been between her and Strike, but once the ballast of their mutual respect and friendship had ensured their stability again, the events of her birthday had disabused her of any pretence that she didn’t want more from him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was painful to think of, when so much still remained unresolved, when an apparition of Charlotte still taunted Robin’s subconscious; beautiful, dramatic, interesting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But despite that persistent ache, the shift in Strike’s demeanour had been another factor that had become inescapable and intense. He had relaxed. He was always respectful; that never, ever changed. But he didn’t seem to hold his distance now, like the invisible circle of personal space around both of them had shrunk and merged. More than once, he had touched her shoulder as he had reached beyond her for something, and each time, the comfortable weight of his large hand had lingered even after he had moved it away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So it was that she felt no awkwardness that day in the office when he had reached behind her to the drawer, and she had looked into his face, indulging a small moment of pleasure at seeing his crumpled, battered, familiar features close up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hadn’t expected the lightning fast shift to something else. She didn’t know which of them had moved first, and she wondered if actually, after Strike had taken a breath, they had both gently pushed things forward in perfect unison.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their lips brushed tentatively together, mouths both slightly open, the crystal clarity of knowing his breath had caught in his chest, and her eyes closed as she let her hand trace up the thick hair of his forearm. She was elated. She ran her hand around his big arm, the size of him reassuring and something else she was becoming less afraid to acknowledge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mere seconds later, they moved apart enough to look into each other’s faces, and Robin thought that Strike looked like a boy who had been allowed to come to a party and was pleading not to be sent home now. She was delighted to see no guilt or embarrassment, and more, she was overwhelmed that he had reacted to her as a woman he desired.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That delicious clarity coursed through her, and she was about to say “Do that again,” when the phone behind them on her desk had trilled sharply with an incoming call, and the intrusion had made them both jump.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Strike had reached for it on a reflex.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello?” He’d barked. “For fuck’s sake, Barclay…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was yesterday. Events beyond both their control had forced them to spend the rest of the day dealing with work, and worse, Robin had finished too late to justify coming back to the office and resuming, or at least talking about, whatever had just started.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t realize how nervous she was about it until that pin sharp definition of reality reminded her that Strike would be able to hear every step she made on the metal stairs as she approached the office, and would be expecting her.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Strike was still massaging the top of his uneven nose where it met his default-glowering eyebrows when he heard footsteps on the stairs. He knew it wasn’t Pat, who was already in and seated at her desk, working through the small stack of possible new office spaces to draw up a pro and cons list. The tread was too light for Barclay, who had, in any case, a day off. Why he couldn’t have had yesterday off, Strike pondered, unreasonably, knowing it was Robin on her way in, and wishing he could simply rewind twenty four hours and hear what she had been going to say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A night alone had given him the opportunity to stew. What if she walked in and awkwardness reigned? What if she scolded him for being inappropriate? What if his overture had been one step down from an unsolicited dick pic? What if…? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He heard the door of the office open and Robin greet Pat brightly, who returned the greeting and a brief conversation ensued about the current progress Pat was making.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Strike brought to mind Robin’s expression. If she’d wanted to knee him in the bollocks, there had been plenty of time to do it before Sam had displayed his impeccable timing again. She’d seemed pleased. She really had, he wasn’t imagining it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Morning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robin’s voice drew him sharply back into the present and away from his tortuous thoughts, and he pulled his hand away from his brows and opened his eyes. She was already seated, and though she had a charming air of shyness about her, a smile danced lightly around her lips. She still seemed pleased, at least.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He swallowed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Morning,” he replied hoarsely, and cleared his throat. “You all right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am,” Robin said, looking down, but still smiling. “You?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Here it was. The moment he had been afraid would fuck everything up, and so had spent such a long time attempting to pivot away from, until the events of the past year had moved him inexorably towards </span>
  <em>
    <span>memento vivere</span>
  </em>
  <span>. If he pulled back here, it was already too late. The only option was a step forward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” he said, a warm smile so audible in his voice that he was immediately rewarded by Robin looking up, her eyes returning her expression to the same delight he had seen just before the phone rang. They both seemed to take a moment to just bask in the relief, but then Strike pushed himself up out of his chair and offered to make tea. The added couple of minutes while he hastily boiled kettle, soaked teabags, splashed milk and plonked one mug haphazardly down next to Pat gave him a little time to notice how his heavy anxieties had been replaced by a clumsy eagerness to do this task and get back to Robin, and therefore a little space to register that he didn’t want to give the impression of an excited idiot. By the time he walked back into the office with two mugs in one hand, pushing the door closed behind, he had a little more self possession.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He handed Robin her mug and leaned companionably on the desk beside her. She swivelled her chair round to face him, thanking him for the tea, and taking a sip while holding his gaze. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” she said a second later.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” Strike echoed, and they were still smiling at each other. Strike took a gulp of his tea, and put the mug down beside him. He folded his arms lightly, running a big, hairy backed hand over his jaw. “Yesterday was… unexpected.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But not unwelcome,” Robin replied, and there was a hint of a question in the statement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, not at </span>
  <em>
    <span>all</span>
  </em>
  <span> unwelcome,” Strike agreed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robin took another mouthful of tea, and put her mug beside Strike’s on the desk. She leaned forward, her hands in her lap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was a bit worried you might not want…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I very much want,” Strike didn’t let her finish, reaching forward and taking one of her hands from her lap. It was slender and warm beneath his big fingers, and he detected the tiniest of tremors and it hit him how nervous she was about this, how much she had to lose too if things went wrong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was no place for cowardly retreat into self preservation. What would be the point? Where could he possibly retreat to that would preserve him from Robin, who was sitting here like a life-giving elixir, ready to do him the power of good, as she always had done? Retreat would be death anyway, even if he didn’t also now have the motivation to reassure her and soothe the worries that he hadn’t even understood she shared until now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I very much want, Robin,” he repeated. “If you do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course I do, you great lummox,” she laughed, and there was the relief again.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Robin felt the interior of the Denmark Street office had never had such a warm, sepia-toned glow as it had that morning. They would be leaving it soon enough, likely for something cleaner, more stream-lined and probably with more natural light. But it would always remain the portal to a new life for her, the cave of wonders that had led her to her vocation and the man who had spent the morning at his desk across from her, occasionally looking up and across, smiling, seemingly just to check she was still there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One of the wonders she had discovered was The Tottenham, the venue of so many of their leaps forward, where she now sat while Strike fetched drinks from the bar. Robin knew she was being wildly sentimental, and it could probably be put down to some sort of chemical, hormonal flush of endorphins. She was circling back to a sense of ‘this is too good to be true’ that kept being pushed aside by the repeated thought, whenever she looked at the solid reality of Strike,</span>
  <em>
    <span> it </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>is</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> true, though.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Strike crossed the room to her, already taking the top off his pint of Doom Bar as he walked. He had an air of easy, comfortable confidence about him, and she was reminded of those times when he knew he got something right and had been rewarded for it. Smug, perhaps, but that maybe sounded like she didn’t approve. She did. She loved it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They chatted easily about the current caseload, and particularly about the new potential office spaces.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> found anywhere yet?” Robin asked, thinking of the small space this bear of a man inhabited, and how she was actually a little sad that he would be living away from wherever they ended up working. That cave of wonders was actually his home, too, and it almost seemed like he was made from the same stuff as those grubby walls and rickety furniture. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope. You know what it’s like. Small shared room with non-smoking vegan-bacon wearers, breathing only permitted between three and five on Tuesdays,” he said, and she laughed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s always Nick and Ilsa if it goes tits up before I’ve found anywhere,” he added.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Max might know somewhere. We could ask him,” Robin offered, and a little voice inside her head coughed politely. The eventuality of Strike being with her, talking to Max, obviously placed him in her home, and though he had already been there, and not always in comfortable memories, it was always as her colleague and friend. Now, suddenly, something else loomed as large as he did, and it was a few seconds before she registered that she had zoned out as Strike was saying something in reply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be like that, it’s not a bad idea, I just think there’s no rush,” he finished.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like what?” She blinked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You looked like you were pissed off with me,” Strike explained, the ghost of a frown on his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shook her head, breathing out a smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, not at all. I’m just.. I think I’m a bit tired actually. Didn’t have a great night,” she assured him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, there you go, not taking lodging advice from someone who lives somewhere she can’t sleep properly,” Strike teased, and she rolled her eyes, and lightly slapped his arm. The contact seemed to enliven him. “Unless you didn’t sleep for more interesting reasons,” he added, and Robin felt her eyes widen a little before she could even begin to feign an unflustered cool girl manner. Strike seemed to enjoy her reaction immensely, holding her gaze and smiling into his pint as he took another long drink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on,” he said, putting his empty glass down firmly and slapping his thighs for emphasis. “Time we get you home. Don’t want people to think you’re takin’ advantage of me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His Cornish vowels came through strongly when he was playful, and despite the bubble of anxiety in Robin’s gut now that the next steps seemed ominously, if excitingly close, she knew she trusted him completely. He had held out his hand to her, and she assumed it was to help her up, but he didn’t relinquish it once she was standing and they began to walk out into the night air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They ambled and chatted some more as they decided Robin would take a taxi home. Standing beside the waiting black cab, Strike having opened the back door, he took hold of her other hand too. He looked at her, his eyes soft, his wiry curls in pleasing disarray, and some of her trepidation ebbed away. He was clearly not going to rush this, and the thought flooded her with reassurance and delighted eagerness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“G’night Robin,” he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Night, Strike,” she replied, biting her lower lip in a fraction, and then making the smallest of shifts towards him, which seemed to be all the encouragement he needed as he bent his head and resumed their kiss, still just as gentle as before at first and then she felt his hands cradle her face and he deepened it a little. Her head was swimming as he pulled away slowly, leaving her craving more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sleep well, ok?” He said, his eyes dark and his tone still playful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She flushed with pleasure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You too,” she replied lightly, climbing into the cab. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Call me when you get in, yeah?” He said, as he closed the door behind her, and she knew he watched the cab until it turned out of the street because she never took her eyes off him.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Strike was nearly home when he received a text from Robin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Thanks for tonight. And yesterday. And everything. R x</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He smiled to himself and looked at the text for a full ten seconds before clicking the screen off as he fished for his keys. He waited until he had made it all the way to the top of the building before looking at the text again. He tapped out the reply he’d refined as he climbed the stairs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>I can’t take credit for everything. You were there too x</em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had picked up a bag of chips on the way home, and he slumped down in his armchair and crammed a few more in his gob, looking at his phone, hoping for a swift reply.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>You home yet?</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Strike grinned.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Already asleep. You woke me up.</em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He snorted as her reply pinged back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Liar. I bet you got food.</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>I can eat in my sleep.</em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>I bet.</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Funnily enough, he’d actually forgotten about the chips by now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>You home yet?</em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Nearly.</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Phone me when you get there.</em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Why? What do you think is going to happen between the cab and my front door?</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>I’ll miss flirting with you.</em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was no reply for longer than he was happy with, enough time for his attention to return to the chips which were passed their best now, cooler and a bit chewy. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>You still there?</em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Yes. I was talking to Max.</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Say hi for me.</em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>I’m in my room now. Phoning in a second, hold on.</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Strike adjusted himself, shuffling his trousers down so he could ease the prosthesis off for comfort. He’d just rested it against the side of the chair when his ringtone started, and he snatched the phone to his ear like it was about to drop down a well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That cannot have possibly rung out,” Robin laughed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve got the reflexes of a cat,” he replied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A big cat,” Robin said wryly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are a terrible flirt, Ellacott,” Strike smirked, his eyebrows raised.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Says the guy who bought me perfume for my birthday,” she shot back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was an entirely platonic friendly gesture,” he said, affecting an airy tone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bollocks,” she said bluntly, the Yorkshire strong, and Strike snickered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You ok with this, yes?” He asked, only slightly playful now. He was going to get every step of this right, and that meant listening to her cues.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I’ve got free minutes left this month,” she replied, not quite willing to move away from the teasing yet. “I’m good. I’m great. I’m..”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a pause. Strike waited.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want to mess it up, yeah?” She said, her tone candid and careful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I know. Me neither,” he acknowledged, unexpectedly overwhelmed by how vulnerable he felt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not just that though. I don’t just want to not mess it up. I want to get it right. I think we both deserve that, yeah?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Strike was holding the phone to his ear as though he could press her closer, and he sighed heavily as he nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you all right?” Robin asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I am. And I get it. I don’t ever want to push you where you don’t want to go,” he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you know how that works, yeah? You talk to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiled ruefully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, ma’am,” he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oo, I like that,” Robin exclaimed warmly, the flirty tone returning to Strike’s delight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Easy there. Let’s have dinner first,” he replied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you asking me out?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“First proper date, tomorrow night, somewhere nice. Promise I won’t keep you up,” he suggested.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not even if I want you to?” He could hear the smile as she spoke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll follow your lead. Ma’am,” he replied, and she laughed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right. See you tomorrow, yeah?” she said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yup. Sleep well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah. You too. ‘Night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The call ended and Strike dropped the phone and let his head fall back, enjoying the mingled satisfaction and anticipation for a few minutes, before hoisting himself up and toward the bedroom.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Strike had said Italian. Robin slipped into the blue dress and pulled the large rollers from her hair carefully, tousling the curls out. This was the first genuine romantic first date she had embarked upon as an adult, she realized, and even though she was more than happy with the sudden turnaround with Strike (which, she considered, wasn’t really a turnaround, more an acceleration in the current direction of travel) she couldn't quell the nerves which knotted tightly in her stomach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she was satisfied with her appearance, she checked her phone for the time. Strike had told he was picking her up, which had struck her as rather old fashioned gallantry, but what did she know? She had never done this before. She had no idea of protocol, or conventions, not really. As she sank down on the sofa to wait, it occurred to her that Strike might expect things, really basic things that she didn’t know that she didn’t know. Alarm must have flashed over her face, because Max, who was walking through to the kitchen, stopped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is everything alright? He hasn’t stood you up has he?” He asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robin shook her head, attempting a reassuring smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I… I think I’m just nervous,” she admitted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not hugely surprising, is it?” Max said, coming to sit in an armchair. “Have you actually been out with anyone since you broke up with Matthew?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve not ever been out with anyone </span>
  <em>
    <span>except</span>
  </em>
  <span> Matthew,” she emphasized.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Max replied, raising his eyebrows a little. “I can see how that might colour things.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine, I’m just overthinking everything. He’s picking me up in about quarter of an hour,” she shook her head. “Is that normal, picking me up, rather than meeting there?” She asked quickly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Max laughed a little, smiling. “It’s not that weird, Robin. He’s trying to make a good impression; treat you like a lady. It’s not the mark of an emotional inadequate, if that’s what you’re worried about!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robin breathed out a rueful laugh. “No, I think I’m filling that particular role in the set up!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look,” Max said, his voice friendly and gentle, “he really likes you, Robin. And I think you really like him. Don’t put so much pressure on yourself. You’re already good friends, this is meant to be a natural extension of that. Relax and enjoy a man making a fuss of you. You deserve it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robin was touched by his words and smiled gratefully. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come here,” he said, standing and holding out his arms, and she stood and met his hug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m out tonight if you want to bring him back, ok? Just throwing that out there,” he laughed lightly, and Robin adopted a pretend professional air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you for the planning assistance,” she said, and though she was in jest, she wasn’t sure if it helped or hindered her nerves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Max disappeared into the kitchen, and Robin heard a smart rap at the door. She took in a steadying breath, called out a goodbye to Max, and walked down the hallway to open the door to Strike.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was wearing his best suit, of course, and he’d done a creditable job of pushing his hair towards an impression of tidiness. She detected in him no quiver of the nerves which she was battling against. Instead, he stood, the taxi waiting behind him, swept his gaze down her outfit with an expression, not of lasciviousness, but of humbled awe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow. You look gorgeous,” he said, and she beamed despite herself, even throwing in a mock bobbed curtsey which instantly unlocked a sense of being ridiculous to add to the nerves. She blushed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” she mumbled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What for? I’m bloody not,” he said warmly, crooking his elbow for her to take, which she did, and they got in the taxi. Strike gave the name of the restaurant and settled on the leather seat next to her as they pulled away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robin decided candour was her best course.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m a bit nervous, to be honest,” she admitted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me too,” he replied, and it was completely sincere. They both looked down, facing forwards, and then looked up and at each other at the same time, and the coincidental unison broke the tension to the point they were able to laugh, albeit with the nervy undertone still obvious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robin was surprised he was feeling that way, Strike was working through how he could ease her nerves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you been to this place before?” She asked, and the uncomfortable sense of driving to a wake ebbed back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope,” Strike shook his head, “seemed like a good idea to have us both try something new. ‘Course I’m not actually sure it was now we’ve both said we’re nervous,” he joked, and the mood lightened further.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His plan had indeed been to go somewhere that held neither memory nor connection for either of them; he had wanted to put her at her ease.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it’s a great idea. Sorry, I just… I’ve not really done dates. I feel a bit, I dunno, naive,” Robin said, feeling like she was coming clean. Strike sat back and closer to her, the atmosphere almost completely defrosted now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that all? I thought you were having second thoughts,” he confessed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God, no!” Robin replied emphatically, and a second later realized she’d put her hand on his arm, and for a brief moment the nerves threatened to resurge, but he smiled and put his hand over hers, his thumb rubbing her wrist gently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right, Ellacott, stand down,” he teased. She stuck her tongue out at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re just us, yeah?” He said, grinning. “We’ve just added kissing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She laughed and rested her head on his shoulder.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It was the worst Italian food Strike had ever eaten. He wasn’t especially a connoisseur, but he had eaten enough food over time to know when someone had put no salt in pasta. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a bit like eating watery clumps of plain porridge,” he’d said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He expected this to presage disaster, but had been astonished when Robin was obviously trying and failing to suppress helpless giggles. It was probably a knock on effect from being so nervous to begin with, but her cheeks were soon rosy with the attempt to calm down, and her eyes sparkled with mirthful tears. It was contagious, and soon almost everything had taken on the hue of the ridiculous, from the supercilious waiters to the piped music that seemed to warp tunelessly every few minutes, setting them off again, despite desperate attempts to retain some dignity. It was becoming clear that the fellow diners, who seemed much happier with mediocre food and cheesy surroundings, were highly disapproving, and when Robin saw one woman mime a drinking gesture to her dinner companion, she was completely lost, and getting stitch. She reached over to Strike, who was doing much better at controlling himself, pressing his lips together with the effort, squeezed his hand and managed to say “Shall we skip dessert, dear?” before dissolving into laughter again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nodded enthusiastically and motioned for the waiter to bring the bill, and they made their escape, Robin clinging on to Strike in the effort to stand, gasping in breaths to regain some equilibrium, hoping the stitch would subside but totally feeling it had been worth it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was </span>
  <em>
    <span>the </span>
  </em>
  <span>worst restaurant in London!” She announced eventually. “Thank you so much for taking me, it was brilliant!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Strike couldn’t be happier. The food had been awful, but Robin had never been so consistently wrapped around him, and her joyous laughter had lit up her like a firework. Seeing her so deliriously happy he was absolutely certain he could not have managed that reaction had the evening been the most perfectly stereotypical romantic date.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I shall seek out somewhere equally memorable for date two,” he chuckled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, we’ve not finished the first one yet, have we?” Robin asked, stopping and straightening up. She had only managed half a glass of wine, but the giggling fit had left her giddy nonetheless, and she could feel herself swaying a bit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Strike stood tall next to her and met her gaze, his mirth softening into an affectionate smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Up to you, ma’am. I have no other plans,” he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe you could improvise?” Robin said, surprising even herself with her boldness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe,” he replied, and reached up, slipping his hand into her hair and pulling her to him, no tentative kiss now, but giving his whole self into it, and Robin returned it with equal relish, desire sweeping through her in a powerful wave as she pressed herself against him, her hands running up his back and spanning his shoulders. He had slipped his other hand round her waist and she was glad he had, as they broke the kiss in a gasp because a red car drove past with some leery lads yelling out of the window and the driver honking his horn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Breathing heavily, Robin rested her head against Strike’s chest, and was gratified to feel the low rumble of amusement coming from him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I could improvise indoors, too,” he said, and she laughed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Back home, Max had indeed disappeared, and Wolfgang only gave them a cursory glance before settling down again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Drink?” Robin asked, and Strike nodded. She pulled a couple of beers from the fridge, flipped the lids off and brought them over to the sofa. Strike had yet to sit down, his hands in his pockets. Robin kicked off her heels and hooked her legs under herself. She held out a beer for Strike, who took it, kicked back a swig and remained standing, one hand still in his pocket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You're not gonna sit with me?” She asked, curious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not yet,” he said. “I’m quite enjoying looking at you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robin’s boldness had subsided considerably by this point, and the crackle of something in his gaze returned her, reluctantly, to the flutter of nerves that she began the evening with. She knew she was blushing, and she looked down, feeling a prickle of sweat round her neck. Taking in a breath, she was trying to think of a reply, but a second later, she felt the sofa dip next to her and Strike was sitting beside her, leaning forward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” he said. “Not sure how to pitch it, and I got that wrong. I’m not trying to make you nervous. Look, we are in no rush here. We go as slow as you want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robin frowned. She was scrambling for the words to say, crushed and panicking that she had ruined everything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just… I don’t know. It’s not that I don’t want to. I actually really do, but it’s just suddenly become really big and I’m not sure what to do,” she was horrified to hear a sobbing hitch in her voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey… hey,” Strike’s voice was soft, and she succumbed gratefully to him enveloping her in a hug which drew her into his chest. “I am not here to shag you Robin. I’m here because I wanna be </span>
  <em>
    <span>with you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, all right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nodded. “I just didn’t want you to think I didn’t… I wanted you to want me for so long… I… I….”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fucksake, Robin. You have no idea how much I’ve wanted you, or for how long. I just thought I would cock it up, and if I did it would cock up everything else.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s my fault, I’ve managed to panic myself. I feel ridiculous,” she said, pushing herself up to look at him. She smiled weakly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked at her with such affection, bringing his left hand up to push her disheveled hair away from her face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not ridiculous, Robin. You’re bloody marvellous. And yeah, I want you, but that’s the point, I want </span>
  <em>
    <span>you.</span>
  </em>
  <span> If all you ever want to do is have me hold you then I don’t fucking care,” he said softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t really mean that,” she scoffed, but only lightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ok, it’d eventually drive me round the bend, but I only kissed you two nights ago, what kind of a twat do you think I am if I can’t wait however long you need me to?” He smiled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well can you hold me, then? Tonight? I’ve not even just been held for so, so long and I think I’d really like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, ma’am,” he said, and placed a soft kiss on her wet cheek.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>That is the end of today's offering. But the snowball is gathering pace.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>"Morning."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robin heard the greeting as she flickered her heavy lidded eyes open. She was in her bed, her pillow moulded around her head, and beside her, propped up a little against the headboard and dressed only in a light blue t-shirt, was Strike. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His physical presence, all hair and broad, solid masculinity, was quite the early morning jolt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took only a brief minute to recall the previous night, and Robin immediately shut her eyes and wished she could be asleep again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Morning," she replied, blinking up at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, aren't you the picture of vitality?" He chuckled, though now she looked at him, he was every bit as rumpled and puffy as she expected she was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She groaned, pulling herself up the bed a little to sit on a level beside him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They sat in the quiet morning sunshine for a few minutes, Strike patient, Robin staring blankly ahead, gently waking up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I am so, so sorry," she said eventually.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He snorted softly and held her hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Really. That's got to have been the single worst first date ever," she continued, dejectedly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Bits of it were all right," he offered, but Robin's mortification wasn't going to fade quickly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I couldn't have messed it up more thoroughly than if I'd got completely trollied and thrown up all over you," she groaned again, resigned to staring at the end of her bed for the rest of her life and being bricked up in her bedroom, relying on the kindness of strangers to bring her scraps of food.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ah, well you see, you didn't do any of that, so it could have been worse," Strike said, his tone light. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was feeling great. The overwhelming flood of tension and emotion had sabotaged their evening, as he now realized was an obvious probability, but he had spent the night with her nestled into him, and when he had woken, his first sensation had been her red-gold hair softly curling over his bicep, and his second had been the ridiculously charming sound of a gentle chirruping snore coming from her perfect mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I really understand if you'd rather we just forget it," Robin was saying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't be daft," he replied, pulling her hand up to his lips, his fingers entwined with hers. He pressed a kiss there, and then on her forehead too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We both put too much pressure on ourselves, that's all. We're just people, Robin. It didn't have to be perfect, it wasn't meant to be a performance."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robin allowed herself a small smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It'd be really great," she said, carefully, "if we could just spend some time together. With no expectations. Just </span>
  <em>
    <span>be.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Could we do that for a bit?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sounds good to me," Strike said, scratching his head vigorously and running his hand over his stubbled face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next few weeks were exactly that. Outside of work, they did things they would have done anyway. They went to the pub, they chatted, they laughed and flirted and teased.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robin began to view their disastrous date as an aberration, and recognize that their first date had really been that first night in The Tottenham, which had simply been them being themselves, but with kissing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Strike had fallen into an easy habit of holding her hand during any evening walk, but it didn't happen all the time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few times they had spent the evening on her sofa; a couple of those times watching a film with a curry, and one time in particular spending a pleasant hour or two necking like teenagers because the film had been very dull.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With the exception of about five nights, they had slept in the same bed, sometimes indulging long slow kisses before sleep, sometimes collapsing into the security of each other's arms and falling asleep straight away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robin had never felt so cherished, and for Strike, his tender affection for her was becoming so deeply rooted he knew that if he couldn't imagine his life without her beforehand, he'd waste away to nothing now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>About three weeks of this comfortable intimacy had passed, and Max was spending the weekend away, Wolfgang with him. After a warm and comfortable night together, during which Robin had been running her fingers through Strike’s thick chest hair as he slept, and imagined waking him, straddling him and riding him while she continued to rake his hair, and had been so close to actually doing it, they had two days of nothing scheduled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robin stood in the kitchen, frying bacon. Strike was making two mugs of tea beside her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why did you think…?” Strike began, and paused, squeezing the teabags as he considered how to phrase his question.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robin turned. She was wearing her slightly oversized button-through pyjamas, the bold red plaid clashing with her red-gold hair, still unbrushed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why did you ‘want me to want you’?” He asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robin, unsure what he was asking, opened her mouth to try and form a reply, her confusion evident</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The night we came back here, one of the things you said was that you wanted me to want you for so long, and you sounded like you didn’t think I did,” he expanded his thought, carefully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Comprehension swept over Robin’s face and she smiled a little, closing her eyes for a second and turning back to the bacon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t,” she replied. “I didn’t think… I thought you had never made any moves because you didn’t see me like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Strike turned down his mouth and nodded in consideration as he poured a little milk into each mug and picked up the sugar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I suppose I should consider that a win for my undercover skills,” he said, lightly. “But you still… I dunno, we were both too bloody nervous, I s’pose… you still seemed to think you had to impress me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robin turned off the hob, and slid the bacon onto the waiting slices of buttered bread. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I was just intimidated by things,” she said, squeezing brown sauce over her sandwich and handing Strike the bottle so he could do his. He took it and passed her the mug of tea he had made for her. She took her mug and plate and went to the table to sit, and Strike watched her, enjoying how the lines of plaid followed the curve of her bum, before putting the second slice of bread on his sandwich and coming to sit beside her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What things?” He asked, taking a large bite.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robin could feel she was skirting round his questions, and she knew he thought so too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve always had no problem attracting women,” she said, after a long pause, ostensibly to eat some breakfast and drink some tea. “I didn’t really understand that at first, because I thought you were just a big hairy monster, but I get it now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because now you know I’m not?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, because now I know that’s what I like,” she replied quickly, and he laughed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She laced her hands round her mug as she continued, choosing her words with care.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought I wasn’t your type,” she said. She took a sip. “I thought I wasn’t exciting or dramatic or glamorous or successful enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Strike stopped chewing for a second as he finally understood, and swallowed his mouthful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I never wanted the drama,” he said, picking up his mug in one hand. “And most of my girlfriends” - he chose the plural to give himself time to consider exactly the right thing to say about the woman he knew she really meant - “are glamorous and successful because I like tall women, who are most likely to be confident go-getters. Thought you did psychology,” he teased.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, at least I’m tall,” she replied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She took the humour in good part, but she knew he wasn’t finished. He sighed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We were together a long time. She knew me through the worst times in my life,” he said, and Robin felt the heavy weight of anxiety on her chest as he began to talk about Charlotte, the spectre who had undermined her confidence so subtly for so long.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But that only gave her ammunition, in the end. And when you know someone in the really bad bits, you can end up thinking they know you better than anyone, but she only ever used those times to manipulate me. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>thought </span>
  </em>
  <span>she cared about me, but as soon as I met you I started learning what caring about someone actually was, and it’s not going out of your way to hurt them when you need attention,” he said, and Robin could hear the depth of pain that prompted his reflection.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for you to talk about painful…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it’s good. You told me the talking thing was the way forward, and you’re right,” he said, and took another large mouthful of tea. “And actually, now I’ve said it, it feels a bit like drawing the last of the poison.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robin would have been quite satisfied at this point, the heaviness in her chest lifting, but Strike seemed to have more to say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want drama and I have quite enough excitement in my life. I don’t want loving someone to be hard bloody work that leaves me wrung out and watching my back for the next explosion. I get that at work, and so do you. If I never see her, or think about her again in my life, it will be the best thing that’s ever happened about her. I don’t want her. At all. I want you.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>They had spent a lazy Saturday together; a lunchtime drink and a bit of slow ambling along the embankment, holding hands. Robin felt so unencumbered by worry, she could have believed it was a dream, and by the time they had ended the day, Strike content after a large meal and a couple of pints, his arm draped around her shoulders, she could have told anyone who asked that she was happier than she had been in her entire life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They lay in bed a little while later, the night warm, so Robin wearing only plain white pants and vest top, and Strike only boxers. They were looking at each other in the orange glow from the street lamps, Robin resting her hand on Strike’s rough cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t tell me this hasn’t been a bit like hard work,” she said softly. “I sobbed into your arms the first night you stayed over.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t leave me watching my back, though, did it?” He said, his hand slipping round her waist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, that’s true. Although I can’t promise to never jump you,” she teased.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would be incredibly disappointed if you made a promise like that,” he replied, his voice low and gentle like hers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Love should be something you work hard at, though,” she said after a moment. He watched her eyes drift and unfocus, and he wondered what she was thinking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It should,” he replied, and his voice drew her full attention back. “And if we’re going to make promises, I promise I will. Work hard at it, I mean.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt his heart quicken as he heard himself speak. He was teetering on the brink of something he swore to himself he would never say unless he meant it with his whole being.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me too,” she replied, and he could see her eyes shining with unspent tears even in the half light. He didn’t just mean it with his whole being. He felt it in his guts and looking at her now, he knew it wasn’t a question of only saying it if he really meant it. It was a question of having to say it because if he didn’t it would kill him. With the gentle weight of her hand, light on his cheek, he leaned forward and kissed her slowly and tenderly, his hand round her waist pulling her closer to him. She melted into him, a small mewling sound coming from her as she moulded herself along his body. His erection pressed into her belly, as it had done a few times when they had lain like this, but he had never once pushed her, his evident desire for her seeming to be enough for the moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He broke the kiss, and rested his forehead against hers. Robin read it as him needing to regain some physical control over himself, which he had done before, and as she sank into the warmth of him, she knew she didn’t want him to. The idea of him losing control had become a more and more appealing thought as the weeks had passed. The fact that he hadn’t only because of his care for her made her want it all the more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Robin, I,” he began, haltingly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s ok, I don’t mind,” she said intently, pressing herself against him, trying to wordlessly indicate that she didn’t object to him continuing,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I,” he gave a soft laugh. “I didn’t mean… I mean, good. I’ll follow your lead, I just.. I wanted to say…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The feeling in his guts was almost too powerful to distill into words. His head was still resting against hers, and he pulled back to look at her face, hoping the words would crystalize when he did so.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looked so beautiful, expectantly listening, the glow of desire on her cheeks and in her darkened eyes. He had never felt anything so pure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wanted to say how much I love you,” he said. He watched recognition sweep over her, saw her mouth fall open a little, and watched one tear escape and trail down towards her pillow. She closed her mouth and swallowed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you too,” she returned, hoarsely, and Strike felt something burst upwards from him as he drew her into another kiss. Her hands ran into his hair and there was something frantic in the way they clung to each other now, her mouth hot against his, like they couldn’t possibly get close enough. She hooked her leg over him, his big thigh pressing between her legs, and the pressure against her there elicited a moan into his mouth that drove his self control right to the edge, and he slipped his hand down over her backside and squeezed her. She reached down to take hold of that hand, and for a second he thought she was going to stop this, but she was pulling his hand around to her belly, and down between her legs, and he sucked in a breath as he realized she wasn’t ending it, she was pushing it forward, showing him what she wanted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He slipped into her pants, feeling the soft brush of hair beneath his hand, and he pressed gently against the top of her folds, tracing a small circle with two fingers. He was rewarded by the sight of Robin arching slightly back, out of the frantic bruising kiss, so he could see her face; her eyes shut, her expression wild. He was doing this to her, and she was letting him. He played a little with the speed and pressure of his fingers, watching her face to see the effect of each small shift in motion. The heat of her beneath his hand was intense, and as he slipped his fingers down the soft creases, she bit her lower lip in and he eased the tip of one big finger into her, watching her head fall back as she gasped. He curled his finger further in, his thumb now tracing circles over the sensitive spot he had discerned, and felt her hips buck against his hand. He placed a few gentle kisses on her exposed neck, hearing her breath quicken with each touch of his lips to her skin. His hand had found a rhythm to match the undulation of her hips, and as he continued to move into her wetness, he felt her hand grasp onto the solid muscle in his bicep and she let out a juddering moan, pulling in a breath in desperation. He could see she was close, and he resumed his light kisses, listening to her race to the edge, and stiffen beneath him as she fell over it. She lay back for a few seconds, the flush of red that had bloomed on her chest fading.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She opened her eyes, and looked at him, her smile warm and life giving. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” she said, and there was more behind it than polite thanks for sorting her out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My pleasure,” he replied, slipping his hand up and resting it on her belly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As her breathing evened, she reached up to run her hand around his neck and pull him into a kiss again, sucking in his lower lip, her thumb rubbing the skin behind his ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We don’t need to stop,” she whispered. “I don’t want to stop.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Ok, we won’t stop,” Strike whispered back, smiling, beginning a trail of languid kisses down her neck, moving, achingly slowly, downwards. He ran his hand under her vest top, pushing it upwards, and she propped herself up a way, enough to tug it off. She lay back again, and sank into the heat of his mouth against her skin as he resumed his slow, deliberate kisses, each one like the supplication of a devotee. His hand stroked down her waist and hip as he drifted further down, and when he placed one very slow, very deliberate kiss on her belly, just where the tidy triangle of hair began, she let out a breath in anticipation of where he was going next.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you ok?” He asked, waiting for her affirmation, but pausing only his kisses and his direction downwards, letting his hands still caress her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” she breathed, and the edge of excitement in the word was what he needed to hear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shifted his weight, shuffling down the bed, placing himself between her legs, peeling her pants off, and he really did look like a worshipper now, come to pay homage at a temple. Robin let her legs fall apart a little more, welcoming his tribute. She had left self consciousness behind some time ago, and had never felt more like a goddess than when she felt the heat of his tongue touch the top of her vulva, already so sensitive from his previous gift to her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh!” She cried, as his mouth claimed her there, his kiss against her folds as deliberate as when it was on the curve of her belly. She ran her hands down herself as she felt his tongue stroke against her. The intensity of the feeling, so soon after she had already shattered beneath him, was breath-taking. She had never come close to twice, so she didn’t know how quickly she could climb back up again. His mouth was closed over her, and his tongue, now flatly lapping, now flicking over the spot she knew he would never overlook, was pulling her into something exquisite, and her hands twined into his hair. She urged him on, her hips rocking, unable to hold back the pleading, begging, incoherent words, her toes curling upwards.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh god! Oh yes!” she panted, a second climax, so powerful she thought for a millisecond might break her in pieces, slammed into her, and she only realized she had squeezed her thighs in again, around Strike’s big head, as she tumbled down the other side of it. She pulled them apart again, and looked down at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, didn’t mean to squeeze,” she laughed, propping herself up on her elbows. He ran one hand round the outside of her right thigh with a grin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can’t think of a better way to go,” he said. He kissed the inside of thigh, and pulled himself up the bed to lay beside her again. She fell back flat, and he reached to kiss her slowly, his thumb tracing circles on her jaw.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was… very nice,” she said, when he pulled back to look at her, his hand idling down her body, caressing her skin in random patterns. She never wanted him to stop touching her. She reached out her hand and reciprocated his touch, only his skin was not pale and smooth, it was thick, dark hair and the heft of muscle beneath. The difference was exhilarating, and she flexed her hand against his chest, and then his softer belly, and then, watching his eyebrows quirk upwards, she reached into his boxers and ran the tips of her fingers over his length, feeling it jolt under her touch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She watched his eyes fall closed as she teased him a few seconds more with a feather light touch, and then relented, curling her fingers round him, delighted to hear a small but deep moan fall from his mouth. Mirroring his intimate touches, she started slowly, her grip firm, but not tight, and he shifted, his breath shuddering as he pressed his head down into the mattress, his eyes screwing shut with the effort to keep control as he absorbed the pleasure of what she was doing to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Christ</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Robin,” he gasped, and the sound of her name on his lips as she held him, worked her hand against the most intimate part of him, was like a shot of pure adrenaline. She felt like a goddess once more, this time bestowing gifts instead of receiving them, and her rhythm increased unconsciously. He bucked forward, panting, bringing a big shaking hand over hers to still it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have to stop that, or I’m gonna…” he said, and the crack in his voice together with the way he trembled, betraying his tenuous grip on control, tripped something electric inside Robin, who relinquished him and put her hands against his shoulders, pushing him onto his back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked up at her as she straddled him, his breathing heavy, his gaze intently fixed on her. She swivelled her pelvis lightly over him, and he stroked his hands up her thighs, resting them against her moving hips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you got…?” He asked, not doubting for the merest second where she wanted to take this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pill,” she said, her focus too intense for full sentences, and she hitched one leg up to briefly pull his boxers down as far as she could. Repositioning herself, she took hold of him again, revelling in the grunt that came from him in response, holding her head at an imperious angle as she lined him up against her core.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked up at her, at how powerful he could see she felt, and through the haze of his desire he made a little pact with himself to bring her off again before he let himself go. It was the only way he could think of holding himself back from coming quickly now, after weeks of patient self control, and he could see that she was determined to push him beyond his limits.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, slowly, with a whimper escaping from her pretty lips, she lowered herself onto him, his girth opening her, filling her, moving so deep within her she collapsed forward unsteadily, throwing out hands onto his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Strike returned his hands to her hips and held her still there for a moment, the feeling of her around him so intense he sighed into it, closing his eyes. He felt her hair tickling round his shoulders, and as he opened his eyes, he saw she was leaning in to kiss him. He reciprocated, opening his mouth and running his tongue along her lower lip and then against her tongue which matched his movements, and she began to roll her hips against him. He slipped his hands round to her backside, and squeezed, lifting her up and down a little, following her rolling hips with measured thrusts of his own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robin was trying to absorb the way he felt, slickly beating into her, the angle hitting a sweet spot that made her breath catch every time, the pulse of each muscle she could feel beneath her, raking her hands through the hair on his body and up into the hair on his head. The angle was such that she was rolling the tip of her clit against his pubic bone, and together with his steady pump right onto her g-spot, and the fact that she was more turned on than she had ever been in her life, she was no longer surprised to feel a third orgasm radiating up, this one not explosive, more like liquid pleasure had been poured through her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She gasped into it nonetheless, and Strike felt it as she collapsed a little more into him, and he was through with self control. Reaching behind her, one hand round her shoulders, one hand round her waist, he spun them over so that she lay beneath him, and with one elbow propped by her shoulder, his hand running into her hair, the other gripping her hip, he drove into her. Robin drank in the sounds of his pleasure, the sounds she knew meant he had lost all control, their bodies covered in sweat and he rode into her, his hardness seeming to reach deeper with every thrust. She felt him hold his breath for a long moment as his movement became more erratic, and she knew he was about to crash over the edge when he gasped in air again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh god, Oh god Robin. Robin, I love you, god I love you…” he whispered, and his climax thundered through him, deep inside her, and he crushed her mouth with his in passion, before dropping his head to her shoulder to catch his breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She lay beneath him, stunned by the intensity of what had just passed between them, thinking how it had only been possible once they had moved beyond that nervy initial tension, and how vulnerable Strike had allowed himself to be with her, in response to her own vulnerability. She traced her hand over his left side, where he was still managing to prop himself on his elbow so that he didn’t squash her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lifted his head and gave a knackered smile, shifting his weight fully off her, swapping elbows to prop his head with his right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Worth waiting for?” she asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can die now. In fact, I just might,” he said, rumbling laughter into the mattress beside her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took hold of her right hand with his left, and tangled their fingers together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not a disappointment?” He asked, improbably sounding a little diffident.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She laughed, the sound lower because she was on her back still.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As if any woman could be disappointed with that!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not any woman, though,” he said, and the enormous statements he had made that evening hit him square in the solar plexus, and tears pricked the corners of his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robin smiled kindly, and reached her left hand out to cradle his jaw.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Strike. I’m yours.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you for reading and sorry if I made anyone cross. Hope it was worth the hype.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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